Girl Talk
by MagentaElbows
Summary: There needed to be a change. Rating for adult themes and language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N/Disclaimer: Richard O'Brien owns the characters and the genre, I own anything you don't recognize, okay?

It was a few weeks after she had first arrived, and the girl was well drunk on the rich red wine of which her host seemed to have a limitless supply. He, sadly, was working that night, so she had made her way, stumbling, up the stairs and down the hall to her own room. She'd expected it to be empty. Instead, the domestic looked up, scowling, from the magazine she was reading, apparently already annoyed. Columbia refused to be upset.

"Wine?" She held up the bottle appeasingly.

The domestic raised an eyebrow and help up her own bottle. "Vodka?" When the girl shook her head, Magenta downed a swig, hardly flinching at the bitter taste, and continued reading.

She never knew how to behave around the strange foreigner. Frankie had told her that he, Magenta, and Magenta's brother Riff Raff, were all from Transylvania, a name which evoked chills and thoughts of vampires. Magenta was the only one who fit her mental image. Her accent was so thick and heavy – the other two hardly seemed foreign when compared to her – and her blood-red lipstick and pale face marked her undeniably as a creature of the night. Not to mention her brusque, almost rude demeanor and expressionless eyes.

"I'm bored," Columbia announced, flopping down on the chaise longue.

Magenta barely batted an eye. "I know. Riff and the Master are working late tonight. Don't wait up for him – even _he's_ not thinking of sex right now."

Columbia blushed a deep pink – she was undeniably a groupie, but she wasn't comfortable discussing it yet. "Why are you here?" The question came out ruder than she'd intended and she stumbled over herself trying to correct it. "I mean, of course you can be here, but you usually aren't and I thought you kind of hated me, so I don't quite understand-"

"Please shut up. Your voice is annoyingly high-pitched."

Columbia tried to not to be offended – tried so hard to be quiet and blasé, with a mask as thick as Magenta's – and failed miserably. "You're always so mean to me."

"You're hurt." The domestic looked up in slight surprise, regarding the girl's embarrassed, red face and bright eyes. "That's too bad. You can't let me, or any of us, bother you that much. We're different than you. You won't last any longer than the other if you can't develop a thicker skin." It was clear, though, that tonight was not going to be the start of that. Magenta sighed, then slowly rose and walked to the bathroom. "I'm not mean, I'm truthful. I've never been one for tact. Just ask Riff."

"Riff Raff frightens me."

"I'm going to cut your hair."

"I don't want my hair cut."

"Too bad." When she emerged, carrying a pair of scissors, a towel, and a comb, Columbia scampered towards the door. "Sit, girl. You have no personal style, and I can't allow it to continue."

She pouted, but (never being one to go against the flow) reluctantly did as commanded. "How is it personal style if you're doing it for me?"

"Don't complain. Back home, wealthy nobles would have killed to have me give them a personal style."

So she used to be a stylist – hairdresser or whatever, Columbia mused as the woman snipped at her stick-straight brown hair. It was weird, then, that Magenta was working as a maid (domestic, she mentally corrected herself, as she'd been snapped at the first day for using the wrong appellation). Why would she want to work for Frank, doing such menial tasks, if she was really such a sought-after stylist?

Locks of hair were falling, faster and faster. It was too much. She shut her eyes and tried not to cry.

After a few minutes, she felt a sharp prod in her shoulder. "Done. We'll color it tomorrow."

It didn't looked _that_ bad, she had to admit, when she finally dared to look in the mirror. Very short, as shorts as a boy's, and parted on the side now. "What color?"

"Blonde, maybe red – no, not my color. Something interesting. And I'm also going to do your make-up. You look like a child and it's a little disgusting. I don't want to know what Frank is thinking when he fucks you, but I'm ending it. Adults should wear make-up."

A few drinks taken in companionable silence later, Columbia was uninhibited enough to say something. "You keep talking about sex like it's no big deal. I don't get it. It's weird."

Magenta stared at her with slightly glazed-over eyes. "What's wrong with talking about sex? You're a groupie, your whole life is ruled by it. You're only here _because_ you have sex with Frank." She let out a disbelieving laugh. "How in the world can you possibly think it's 'weird' to speak about?"

"_Most_ people think it's not polite to discuss it. Especially around here," she sighed. "It's hard to find a more conservative place than Denton."

"I'm not most people, and I'm not from around here either." She paused for a second, an unreadable expression on her face. "You'll probably find this weird, too." With that, she leaned over and grabbed Columbia's head, pulling it to hers in a rough kiss.

The girl's first instinct was to get away – yes, she most _definitely_ found it weird – but Magenta's hands were strong and she was half-pinned under the older woman. She found herself with no choice but to kiss back. To her complete surprise, she wasn't disgusted. It was somewhat…pleasurable. When Magenta finally released her, to read her eyes, perhaps, Columbia didn't move to escape. And when the domestic's lips and fingers roamed lower, the groupie found herself a willing and reciprocal participant in the ensuing activities.

* * *

When it was over, much later, and Magenta was once again skimming her movie magazine with a cigarette lightly between her lips, Columbia was confused. She'd never slept with a woman before, and she wouldn't have expected to be ignored in the aftermath. Didn't Magenta want to be held, too? She'd thought all women liked that, but the domestic had transitioned quickly back to her normal state of indifference. Columbia couldn't help but feel a little hurt. She curled up on the little daybed against the wall, trying not act as if anything had happened.

It didn't work. "I didn't think I liked girls."

Magenta sighed, clearly annoyed that she was talking again. "Everyone likes girls, if they try hard enough. You'd never have made the first move, though."

"How did you know I'd go along with it? _I _didn't even know that."

"You're so drunk I could make you do anything," she replied, chuckling a little. "But I have a kind of…sixth sense about sex. Especially here. Everyone's so transparent about their actual feelings." She raised an eyebrow. "You've been wondering what I look like naked since you first saw me."

"I have not!" Columbia immediately tried to defend herself, but the domestic's smirk put her in her place. "Well, only because you walk around in lingerie half the time." She stood, embarrassed again, and walked over to the full length mirror on the other side of the room. It was strange – she expected to look different, but the same plain girl in blue striped pajamas stared back at her. Except for the hair, of course.

"You could do that, too. You must've noticed by now that we don't exactly have a dress code around here."

"Nah." Having walked off the blush, Columbia returned to Magenta, this time sitting on the same chaise longue that the domestic occupied. "Don't you feel awkward, being half-naked around Riff Raff?"

"No." The reply was short, clipped, and Columbia immediately felt she'd said something wrong. She tried to cuddle up to Magenta but was rebuffed with a sharp kick. "Don't do that, girl."

"Why not?" she pouted, stung. "We just made love!"

"We _fucked_. It was for fun, and because I haven't gotten any since you've been here. I don't want to cuddle with you – I don't do _that_ with just anyone."

Columbia sniffed. "I don't understand you." Magenta was ignoring her again. She hated silences. Why didn't everyone else feel the need to talk all the time? Since _they_ never did, _she_ had to fill the space. "Wait – does that mean you sleep with Frankie?"

Shrugging indifferently, Magenta replied, "I have. I don't seek him out. I'm rather relieved when he has groupies to fill that role."

"But you said you haven't 'gotten any' since I've been here. What does that mean?"

A look of barely concealed anger and – was it fright? – came down over the domestic's face as she tossed the magazine to the floor and stood up gracefully. "It means what it means. Goodnight." With that, Magenta strode to the door, flung it open, and disappeared down the darkened hallway. Columbia just watched her go, confused, tired, and marveling at how she could walk so easily after that much vodka.

* * *

A/N: Read and review, it's been a while since I've posted on here so I'm a little rusty. There's another part to this that I'm working on from Magenta's POV that I may post at a later date.


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: This chapter contains incest. Read or skip accordingly.

Disclaimer: RO'B owns everything, etc, see previous chapter.

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It had been a combination of boredom, revenge, and sheer frustration that had driven her to Columbia's room that evening. She and Riff had been unable to find an opportunity to fuck with Columbia in the house, as the girl spent all of her free time following Magenta around. Magenta had thought that they could spend at least a few minutes together when Frank was…_diverting_ his groupie's attention, but Riff was convinced it wasn't safe as long as the girl was in the house.

She was unpredictable, he said, after Magenta had attempted a fruitless seduction the night before. He'd then proceeded to offer a very long and complicated explanation regarding exactly why they would be found out. She hadn't understood his train of thought, only that she wasn't getting any.

Since Riff was being such a prude, she'd found herself with a lot of extra time of her hands. She'd taken to cleaning, having absolutely nothing else to do. The castle had never been less dank and musty (clean wouldn't ever really apply), and she was entirely ready to kill herself. She thought that first she might try to remedy the situation. Suicide was plan B.

None of the other groupies had had this effect. Usually, they would move into Frank's room with a small suitcase for a couple of days. The prince would be completely occupied by his new lover, and it was actually much safer for Riff and Magenta at these times. They were able to hole themselves up in Magenta's room for hours on end without having to keep one ear open for the telltale click of stilettos outside the door or an angry, shouted order. Once he had tired of his new toy, he would not so subtly tell them to get the fuck out. Magenta would pack for them as they sobbed next to her, and she liked that job – if she found something she liked, she could take it and replace it with an item of clothing she had tired of. It was like shopping without having to go outside.

But _this_ groupie had broken the pattern. Magenta remembered well the evening that she had nearly skipped up to her room, aware that Frank had brought a new girl home and happily anticipating the night she would be able to spend with Riff. It had been a rude shock to open the door and see the mousy-looking thing sprawled out on the bed as if it had always belonged to her. "Hi!" the girl had chirped, and Magenta immediately felt the beginnings of a headache. She'd slammed the door without a word and stalked off to sleep in Riff's room. There was no question of sex there, though. His "room" was, in fact, a storage room adjoining the lab and therefore the prince's chambers. It didn't even have a proper door, just a curtain that she had hung herself.

(It did have a door that the prince didn't know about that allowed Riff to sneak out for their usual midnight trysts. But that wasn't any help in this situation.)

It was coming up on a month of enduring the high-pitched squeak of a voice every time she turned around, the overpowering scent of her cheap perfume, the mess of tacky clothes spread out over _her room_, and the _incessant_ tap dance practice. All without any sex to take the edge off of her frustrations, and it was too much to handle anymore.

That evening, Riff had slipped into the kitchen while she was preparing dinner. It was one of their routines – when he would be working late they could sneak in some kisses and a bit of fondling while she ruined the evening meal. The kitchen was a room that Frank never felt the need to visit, so they felt relatively safe from discovery.

She was feeling frazzled and harried and dinner was looking worse that usual (somehow, she'd managed to set a loaf of bread on fire) (not that Frank wouldn't eat it anyway), so she nearly jumped on Riff when he came in. She said a silent prayer of gratitude that he was clearly as horny as she was; her legs wrapped around his waist and he clutched her firmly against him as they kissed so she could feel how hard he was already. Quickly, he moved them so that she could perch on the countertop, and though he glanced back once at the door that led to the dining room, clearly worrying about being caught, she would not let him get away. He wasn't in a hurry to escape anyway. He pressed against her, and she against him, and they fell into a rocking rhythm as their mouths met again, open and needy, allowing their tongues to push and stroke as their bodies were doing.

It had been far too long since they'd last fucked, and, while this wasn't quite the same things, it was working for her. They had no time or patience for thorough lovemaking – Magenta felt her climax building almost immediately and could tell from the vigor of Riff's thrusts that he was close as well. So, of course, just as she was about to reach the brink of orgasm, she heard Frank's peeved yell from the next room.

"Magenta! Where the hell is dinner?!"

Riff jolted away from her so suddenly that she didn't have time to unwrap her legs. They ended up tumbled in a pile on the floor as she yelled, "One minute!" and tried desperately to return to the sensations of the moment before. But Riff was pushing her off of him and getting to his feet and no matter how she clung to him, he seemed determined to get out of the room.

"I'm sorry, that was too risky," he muttered as she pleaded at the same time, "Riff, just wait, I'll bring out the food and be right back – "

"They're _right there_ – "

"They're not listening for it."

"They _weren't_, but now – "

"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed in utter frustration and he made a violent gesture for her to shut up. "I mean," she continued in a strained whisper, "that we can finish in a few minutes while they eat and they will not know. I _need_ you, Riff, please don't leave me like this…well, damn you all to hell then!" She shouted that last phrase as her brother slunk out of the room without looking back at her.

"Mags?" came Columbia's squeak. "Do you need help?" She heard Frank chuckle and assure the groupie that there was no need to assist. When she emerged from the kitchen a moment later, carrying the platters of overcooked food, he rolled his eyes at her disheveled appearance. "Did the pot roast attack you?"

Magenta stared blankly at him, then at the supper. "It's chicken." Columbia looked skeptical about that statement. "What is pot roast, anyway?"

"I saw it on the television. Oh well," he waved his hand in dismissal, "we'll have it tomorrow. You may leave now."

She walked away, half wondering what pot roast was (pot was a drug, wasn't it? Why would you roast it?), half hoping Riff would have come back to fuck her properly. He hadn't. The kitchen was empty except for the stack of dirty dishes left from her cooking attempts. She gave them a glare and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the freezer.

Thoroughly pissed at her brother, Magenta didn't even try to search him out this evening. Instead, she made her way to her room, the room that had been taken over by that squealing ball of energy. She hadn't slept there since Columbia's arrival, and she found herself lonesome for her own bed. Curling up on the sheets, Magenta was dismayed to discover that they no longer smelled like her (or, her and Riff). Instead, the tacky floral scent of the groupie's perfume was embedded in the fabric. She let out a moan of distress and stood up, pacing around the messy chamber.

Something had to be done. Frank was oddly attached to this girl. He had to either let her go, or make her a permanent resident of the castle. If the latter happened, Magenta could surely get a new room, and things would settle into some kind of routine and she would get sex again. There would be the added bonus of not having to sleep with Frank. And it might be nice to have a girl friend to talk with and fool again with again.

An idea started to form in her mind as she continued to drink and skim a magazine the girl had brought. She could makeover the groupie – make her look more like a Transsexual than an Earthling. That would shake Frank up and would probably force him to decide between giving her the boot and extending a permanent invitation. Her hair was awful, anyway. It needed a new cut and color. The girl would be easily swayed - no spine to speak of – and then…well, with a few drinks in them, who was to say they couldn't have a little fun? A grin spread across the domestic's face. That would get her some revenge against Frank, and a _lot_ against Riff.

It would be a fun evening, Magenta decided as she settled back on her chaise longue to await the groupie's arrival.

* * *

A/N: There's more, I'm not sure how much yet, but it will probably be posted within a month. Thanks for the reviews!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Last chapter! This contains adult content and incest, kiddos. And a bit of fluff. Read with caution (and then review)!

* * *

Afterwards, stalking away from her room, she had to admit she was feeling a little guilty. The girl was so naïve; it was almost sad how easy it had been to coerce her into sex. Of course, she'd never been with an Earthling before, but she'd assumed it would have been similar to sleeping with one of her own kind. The act had been essentially the same, but Columbia's attempted post-coital cuddle had shaken her, reminded her of an ex from back home who it would simply be better to forget.

And then, how easily had she stumbled onto the topic of Riff, how had she caught that slip of the tongue? How long would it take for her to figure it out? She clearly wasn't as dumb as she looked (or spoke), and Magenta didn't trust her farther than she could throw her with _that_ secret. Frank would know as soon as Columbia did, and who knew what would happen then?

The future was looking bleak and she longed for her brother. She wasn't angry any more, just tired, drunk, and upset that she'd spent so little time with him lately.

She didn't even know where she was walking to. Her room was occupied, it was too late for them to be working, and Frank was probably asleep. A quick glance in Riff's room told her it was empty. Where was he? She knew he had been sleeping in the lab recently, since she'd taken _his_ room to avoid Columbia, but the enormous pink tiled room was empty as well.

Magenta wandered aimlessly down the halls, finally making her way to the kitchen. She was depressed enough that she thought she might actually do some cleaning. Or just break a few plates.

The water was filling the sink when she heard a noise behind her. Her troubled thoughts immediately jumped to the paranoid worry that Frank had heard her in the lab and decided to seduce her for the night. She seized a nearby knife before spinning around, ready to defend herself, only to find her brother, frozen in mid-step, staring nervously at the weapon. "Oh. Hello."

"Hello," he responded guardedly. "Are you still quite angry?"

"Oh, this? No, no, I'm not." Magenta quickly dropped the knife in the sink and shut off the water. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"Why aren't _you_?"

She shrugged, her guilt coming back full force. "I sort of made-over the girl this evening. We were bored, you know. I figure it'll get a reaction out of Frank or something. And…I just couldn't sleep yet. She's in my room, but I couldn't be around her anymore, she talks a lot, you know, I'm not tired anyway. I don't know." She realized she was babbling and shut her mouth, wondering why she suddenly felt awkward around Riff.

He approached her slowly, as if he were afraid she would explode at him at any minute. "I'm sorry about before, about the way I reacted. It was rude of me to just leave like that, but I knew I couldn't control myself I stayed."

A chuckle, deep and sultry, rose from her throat as the conversation turned to a subject she was more comfortable with. "That was rather what I was hoping for, Brother." She moved to him and pressed against his chest, unwilling to stand apart from him any longer. As his arms automatically wrapped around her, she felt the weirdness that had been between them dissipate. "I fooled around with Columbia."

"I thought you might have."

"Are you mad?" she asked, looking up at him quizzically.

He seemed to have to think about it for a minute. "No, not really. It was to be expected, given the situation, and it's not the first time." Back on Transexual, Magenta had on occasion hooked up with other women, although Riff was the only man she would sleep with. "Besides, she's only a human."

"Good. But honestly, we have to figure _something_ out. I'm losing my mind here. I miss being with you. I don't sleep well alone, you know."

"Can you bear to leave the dishes for tomorrow?" he abruptly asked, apropos of nothing. She blinked at the non sequitor, and nodded. "Come upstairs."

"Riff, I told you, I'm not tired – " but he silenced her with a finger on her lips and grabbed her by the hand, pulling her up against him.

"We aren't going to sleep."

The undertone of promise in his voice sent shivers up and down her spine and stopped her breath in her throat for a moment. It felt like it had been years since he'd spoken to her like that, and she was suddenly quite aware of her own need again. "Don't…you can't talk like that unless you're going to do something about it," she tried to insist, although her voice was unsteady and the look in his eyes was promise enough. "Where are we going, then?"

He smirked. "It's a surprise. Come on."

Her curiosity piqued, Magenta obediently followed her brother out of the kitchen and up the first flight of stairs. She wondered briefly if he was going to lead them to one of the unoccupied guest rooms, but dismissed the thought immediately. They had long ago decided that the television monitors made them too dangerous as meeting places. Even when the screens were turned off, there were tiny cameras keeping a full documentary of anything that transpired in the rooms – for research purposes, of course. The Transexuals' private rooms were unwatched, as well as the kitchen and a few other areas deemed unnecessary to observe.

Riff continued past the second and third floors without pause. The fourth floor held the private rooms – Magenta's and the secret entrance to the lab – and that was where Riff stopped.

"So, not the roof?"

"Not tonight, at any rate. It's raining." With that, he dragged her down the hallway, clearly more excited now. She couldn't understand why. There was nothing down that way except for the costuming room. They went past that, to the very end of the passage, to a very blank paneled wall that looked very much like any other wall. "Here."

Her first thought was that if they were going to fuck against a wall she didn't understand what the fuss for the past month was about, or why he had brought them up to the fourth floor, with people sleeping just a short distance away, instead of staying downstairs where it was relatively safer. He saw her incredulous expression and grinned. "Not that. That would be asking for trouble."

She smiled wryly back at him, still thoroughly confused. "And yet, I can't say I have any idea of what _else _we might do with a wall."

His grin widened even more and he tugged her hand up to the panel directly in front of them, placing it on the raised corner that was about waist-high. "Press here." When she did, there was a muffled click and the panel swung open, not far. She gaped at it, at the narrow edge of black that the seemingly solid wall had just exposed, until Riff pushed it open further and led them into the blackness, quietly shutting the entrance behind them.

It was all dark in there, not even a hint of the hall light peeking through, as if the door they had just stepped through didn't exist. Magenta's eyes had weakened during their stay on Earth, and so it took a moment for her to regain the night vision that was her birthright. When her sight had adjusted, she saw that they were in a small chamber that looked a lot like an entryway, not a storage closet as she had originally assumed. Directly in front of them was another flight of stairs.

She couldn't wrap her mind around it. It shouldn't have existed. She'd thought she knew the entire castle, she was certain she'd been over every inch of it in the course of her duties. "What – Where did – _How_ did you find this?" she stammered, completely dumbfounded. "What _is_ this, even?"

"Well, it's a secret passageway, obviously. Leads to a hidden room up those stairs. I found some old blueprints in the basement the other day and noticed that there were sketches of _this_, where there shouldn't have been anything. Then it was just a matter of finding the catch to open the wall."

"There's a hidden room?" He nodded at the stairs, chuckling as she seized his hand and practically flew up the steps. Sure enough, at the landing was a door that looked like every other bedroom door in the castle. She tugged at the doorknob in dismay. "But it's locked!"

"You didn't think that I was going to do this halfway, did you?" Riff asked incredulously, pulling a key from his jacket pocket. "There's one for you, too. I got them at the hardware store in town. Being a 'handyman' pays off at times." The door slid silently open as soon as the key turned in the lock and Magenta pushed him through the entrance, nearly knocking him over in her haste to see the room.

It was…_entrancing_, to say the least. Not that there was any huge difference between this one and the other chambers, not that it was bigger or more grandiose. There was a bed, she noticed immediately, and a wardrobe, and a door off to one side that she supposed led to a bathroom. But there was also a _window_, an actual _window_, and that was what stopped her in her tracks. She hadn't seen an uncovered window since they'd come to Earth. The downstairs ones were permanently draped or boarded over, to protect them from inquisitive humans and dangerous sun rays alike. The Royal Chamber was the only room with windows that could be uncovered – except for, now, their room. They had a room, and their room had a window, and their window had moonlight streaming through it onto their bed. "It's _ours_."

"It is," he agreed, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. "Ours and no one else's. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. "Our home away from home."

"With our moon," she added happily. "And our bed…" His lips caressed her throat and her pulse jumped. "It's perfect, Riff. I love you." As his hands began to roam over her breasts they stumbled over to the old-fashioned-looking four-poster that dominated the room. She hurried to unbutton her dress, and then help him out of his own clothing.

Riff groaned at the first touch of her bare skin against his. "Gods, it's been a long month."

"You're telling me." She kissed him fiercely as they stripped off the last of their undergarments and fell onto the black sheets. "How long have you known about this room, again?"

"Only a few days," he panted, his fingers now caressing her between her legs. "We could have used it sooner but I had to be sure there were no cameras."

Magenta wasn't listening anymore. "I need you now, Brother," she pleaded, and then let out a harsh moan as he slid inside her. All the worrying and guilt she had suffered that day, all of her frustrations with Frank and Columbia and even Riff himself, melted away as she lost herself in the familiar sensations. Sex was a time warp, a chance out of the mess of their lives, a trip back to Transexual and the moon-drenched shores and years when they had been happy. Now they had this room, a place they could pretend was home, especially when the moon washed over the bed as it was at that moment. She might let herself hope they could be happy again.

His lips were again on her neck and she tilted her chin up, wordlessly asking for more. His bite was all she needed to send her over the edge into orgasm, and as she arched up against him she felt him release inside her with a cry. She continued to thrust with him until he finally collapsed on top of her. They lay still pressed together, breathing hard from their exertions, but peaceful.

And that night she could sleep, untroubled, undreaming. It was enough.

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A/N: Thanks to those who've reviewed! This story is now complete. I have a few other Rocky Horror stories on the backburner, all Riff/Magenta related, we'll see if I get around to finishing and/or posting them.


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